So as Simon passed, I used the gift Moira had given me and bathed myself in shadows until I was imperceptible from the darkness behind me. Then I slipped one hand into his coat pocket, lifting the vial from him without anyone being the wiser. Let him try the spell without this. It would take him time to draw more blood. Time Lydia could have to make an escape.

  When I was certain that Simon was gone, I moved silently away from the ritual room, ignoring the smell of char inside. Linda was dead and gone. I had another woman to save, and I was going to damn well do it. The fate of the world could literally be at stake.

  I scowled. I hated being the storybook hero. So undignified.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lydia

  I felt like a dog in a kennel when I was wheeled into the auction room while stuffed into a too-small cage beside Bella.

  Simon hadn’t returned to the room since our failed escape attempt, probably to keep himself from killing us both. My back was still stinging, despite the various brews Anthony had spread over my skin and the magical healing Bella had attempted. I mean, I was better but still far from good. I took solace in the fact that an infection wasn’t going to turn my back into a sheet of necrotic tissue, but that wasn’t a guarantee that I’d live. There were things waiting for me in this room that wanted me dead. Potentially worse. This manor was perched on the cusp of Hell, after all.

  There was barely enough room to shift my weight to face forward, but I managed it without elbowing Bella in the face. She’d curled into a tight ball in the corner, turning to the side as though if she positioned herself just right, she’d fade from view. Her terror was palpable and scraped over my skin like the edge of a serrated knife. Bella’s suffering cut more deeply than it should have. She was just so young. She reminded me of my nieces and nephews on the physical side of things. Mentally, she was twenty-something and old enough to be my kid if I’d ever had one. Rodney had cheated me out of biological children, but if I could somehow escape this damnable place, maybe I could adopt Bella.

  I bit the inside of my cheek to contain a half-hysterical laugh. God, I was thinking about adopting a faerie as my own after I escaped Hell. What was my world coming to?

  I scanned the crowd, trying to make out individual faces. If I was going to be sold off to a demon, I wasn’t going to shrink against the back wall of my cage like a kicked dog. I was out of my weight class in many ways, but the one thing they couldn’t take from me was my dignity. Only I could give them that, and I’d die before I surrendered my pride to someone who attended something like this. It was hard to make out much beyond the torches that illuminated the stage. The audience was only so many shapes shifting in shadows, their eyes the only clear indicator of where they sat. Some of the creatures had a lot more than the standard two eyes I was used to, and I looked away from them easily. Occasionally, the flickering light would illuminate a figure, and I’d commit them to memory.

  Indigo recognized a few witches sitting apart from everyone else and muttered sulfurous threats under her breath, detailing the anatomically impossible things she’d like to do to the traitors. She also recognized the vampire sitting in the third row. He had a thin, pointy face that reminded me a little of a weasel, which immediately nixed the sketchy outline for the billionaire vampire paranormal romance I’d been plotting in my head. My imagination spun a new fantasy when my eyes landed on a pair near the front.

  They were beautiful. There was no denying the sheer physical perfection of them, even with the extra demonic parts like horns and their deep red skin. Their features were familiar, though it took me a second to do the before and after comparison in my mind and realize where I’d seen them. I’d seen the man’s face during a number of video calls and only glimpsed the woman’s smiling face on the ‘about’ section of the Hallowed Homes webpage.

  Seraphina and Angelo Stendham. Anthony was right. They were here in the audience. Here to rescue me. Hope rose to choke me for just a second, and it was physically painful to tear my gaze away from Angelo in particular—why would he have come for me? We didn’t even know one another outside of a few conversations. Was he on some sort of special task force intent on rescuing damsels in distress or something? Regardless, I’d never been more attracted to him than I was at this exact moment. Unless... unless he and his sister were here... for another reason? A more nefarious one? What if they’d come here expressly to purchase something? The thought was so horrid, I couldn’t continue thinking it and, instead, forced my eyes to wander and regretted it at once.

  The cloaked figure was almost indistinguishable from the deep shadows, but even so, I could feel its eyes on me. His eyes. The shard of icy terror that slid between my ribs at just the gleam of his eyes beneath a hood was proof of that. There was only one person in this place that Indie would fear besides the Appropriator.

  “Murrain,” Indie breathed, confirming my fear.

  “This is the guy that blew you up? Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I’ve worked with him before, so I know what he’s capable of. I know what his magic feels like. I know what he and my mother were up to years ago. It’s why he killed me. He couldn’t afford to let me expose his secret.”

  “Are you ever going to tell me what that secret is?”

  “No,” she said. “That secret should have died with me. What you don’t know can’t be tortured out of you.”

  Well, that was a cheery thought. But Murrain’s malice was a force potent enough to touch me even from the opposite end of the room. I didn’t think he’d balk at torturing me just for fun, even after he’d discovered I couldn’t divulge whatever deep, dark ritual Indigo’s mother had been working on.

  “You’re right, but he’d still probably torture you,” Indie confirmed. “Knowing my secret would make it infinitely worse for you, trust me. He’d be angry. You don’t want Murrain angry with you.”

  Simon strolled onto the stage then, trailed by the lumbering demon that had wheeled us onto the stage in the first place. He was built like a wardrobe, square and heavy. His craggy brow was so deep it could probably offer shelter to a family of bats and the eyes that shone from under them were dull and unfocused, like a man who’d had one too many at the bar. I was guessing he wasn’t bright, just hired for muscle and fear factor, not his intellectual chops.

  Simon beamed at the crowd. “And now, last but certainly not least, we have Lot 1465. I collected this particular specimen on the West Coast of North America. She might be on the older side—”

  Really? I thought with a grumble.

  Well, in witch years, you’re just a baby, Indie consoled.

  “—but there is a special component to her blood that unlocks a very incredible spell in this grimoire,” Simon finished as he then lifted Cassandra’s Book of Shadows from a velvet display case and held it up to the light, turning it this way and that so that the room could get a good look at it. He grinned when an approving mutter ran through the room. The witches were speaking the loudest, the most excited of the guests. Murrain said nothing, but he did strain forward in interest.

  “He can’t have it,” Indie said. “We have to keep it away from him, even if we have to die doing it.”

  “Let’s keep ‘death’ as Plan B, okay? Plan A is to get bought by literally anyone else and escape.”

  Though if I were honest with myself, there was one person in particular I hoped was here for me and not because he wanted to harm me. Angelo was leaning forward, chin propped negligently on one claw-tipped hand, giving me a once-over that made heat rise up the back of my neck, which was completely ridiculous, given my current predicament.

  “You’re right—it is ridiculous,” Indie confirmed.

  I didn’t respond, because I couldn’t pull my gaze away from his, which was in the process of stripping me bare, and I had the odd urge to cover myself, even though I was still fully clothed. A tiny, devilish smirk touched the corner of his mouth, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking. Not only that but that he liked the fact I was thinking about it.

  “We are not having sex with him even if he gets us out,” Indie said.

  “When did I say we would?” I shot back.

  “Oh, please. Your fantasies belong in a women behind bars movie. Seriously, if you want to be owned so badly, you should find a BDSM club and be done with it.”

  “Oh, shut up. This isn’t helping. And the only reason I’m reacting like this to him is because he’s an incubus.”

  “An incubus’ powers aren’t fully viable against a witch.”

  “I’m not a witch.”

  “You’re half witch.”

  “Ugh.”

  That would usually be Indie’s cue to subside with a snicker, gleeful she’d managed to embarrass me. But today she was too tense, curled into a defensive posture in the back of my mind as she prepared for the very real possibility that she might die horribly twice.

  “Shall we start the bidding at one million?” Simon asked.

  “A demonstration first, I think,” Anthony called from the side of the stage. “Our guests should see a sample of what this woman can supposedly do before they bid.”

  Simon snapped his fingers in a move so patently practiced, it made me cringe. “Yes, of course. Bring the ladies, would you, Arzon?”

  Arzon of the craggy brow ridge lumbered off the stage and returned a moment later with two bodies slung over his shoulder. One was a woman around my age who was cursing Arzon out and beating on his thick hide, to no avail. The other was younger, dark-haired, and very, very dead. Someone had carved a deep crescent into her throat. Her sightless eyes rolled toward me when Arzon set her gracelessly on the stage. If I peered closely, I could see sigils painted onto the stage in something that I hoped was red paint, but was most likely blood. Arzon dropped the older woman beside her and her head smacked audibly against the wood. She let out a sharp gasp, the wind momentarily knocked out of her.

  She didn’t have time to scream before Simon cut her throat, as well. I yelped and turned away. I still felt it. The fear, the panic, the bone-deep despair that settled over her. I focused on Simon instead, watching him reach into his pocket with a confident smirk. A smirk which faltered when his hand came out empty. And as with the first time I’d tried to read Simon’s emotions, there was nothing. Just that void.

  “Where’s the vial?” he hissed at Arzon, voice low enough not to carry.

  “I gave it to you,” Arzon said dully. I could practically see the steam rising from the top of his head as he tried to think it over. “Um... maybe you dropped it?”

  “I didn’t drop it, you fool! Now, go and get more of her blood—use your claws!”

  That was a simple enough command for the big guy to understand. Grabbing the dying woman, he stormed over to the cage, shoving his ham-like fist between the bars with difficulty until he could drag my forearm through them. I choked on a scream when his claws dug deep furrows into my forearm. He shook me, sending blood droplets raining onto the dying woman’s face. The force was almost enough to pop my shoulder from its socket.

  And... nothing happened. Well, not exactly nothing. My skin itched fiercely as whatever Anthony had painted onto my arms did battle with Indie’s magic, trying to keep it contained. The itching got worse the longer the ritual built, and I had to sit on my hands to keep myself from scratching. I didn’t want to rub one of the indelible symbols off and ruin Anthony’s plan. Because—as far as I could tell—it was working.

  When nothing turned into more nothing, a round of titters went up around the room. Simon’s face went pale with rage and he rounded on me, murder in his gaze. If I wasn’t sold today, I was going to pay for it tonight. The weasel-faced vampire stood and cleared his throat, diverting his attention. He strolled toward the stage, idly sampling a bit of the dead woman’s blood as though it were an hors d’oeuvre made especially for him. His fangs were long and disturbingly sharp when he smiled at the enraged demon.

  “As amusing as that diversion was, I believe you should lower your starting price, Simon. Whatever you were hoping to accomplish with this one clearly isn’t working. I’ll start the bidding at say... five thousand dollars?”

  “One million,” a surprisingly pleasant voice said from the shadows. It was lightly accented. British, maybe. The vampire frowned, arched one brow, and returned to his seat.

  Simon’s face was still set in a rictus of rage, but he nodded gratefully toward the shadow where Murrain lurked. “One million. Do I have one million five hundred?”

  “One million five hundred,” Angelo said, leaning closer to the stage. His voice was as rich and silken as usual, convincing me that it really was him behind the horns and the devil’s eyes. My heart hammered wildly in my chest, even as I wondered how in the world he’d been able to bid so much.

  “Two million,” Murrain said.

  And so it continued. It felt like the pair were in a tug-of-war over my guts. Any time Angelo bid, my stomach would ease down and the urge to be sick receded. When it looked like Murrain would outbid him, I felt bile creeping up my throat. Simon’s fury had diminished somewhat when they reached the four million mark. He’d be getting his money’s worth from me, no matter how much of a dud I turned out to be.

  At last, Simon proclaimed in a loud voice, “Going once, going twice... sold to Mr. Salacion!”

  The room erupted into a polite round of applause, and the auction ended. I felt sick when the demons cleared away the remains of the dead women. Pointless. Their deaths had been so pointless, and they were probably my fault.

  “My fault,” Indie corrected gently. “My family, my shame, my fault. You had nothing to do with this, Lydia. Don’t try to shoulder that burden for me.”

  I couldn’t help it. It was too cruel. Someone had to be held accountable for this.

  “If we get back to the surface, they will be,” Indie said, a fierce note in her voice. “Lucretia Boline and her Rangers will see to it. Anthony will tell her about this and we’ll back his testimony.”

  I hoped she was right. I didn’t say anything as Arzon wheeled us into another room where Fifi and Angelo waited. I caught a snippet of their conversation before they noticed our presence. They were back in the human forms I recognized.

  “That was almost all of your savings,” she pointed out, but she wasn’t lecturing him—in fact, she was wearing a smile like she was proud of him.

  “I know.”

  “Father won’t be happy. He’ll probably cut you off for a year, just to teach you a lesson.”

  “Thanks for the reminder,” Angelo said from between clenched teeth. “It won’t take long to rebuild.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “I can very easily find a few wealthy women and I’ll just... borrow whatever I need to, courtesy of my incubus magic.”

  “Or you won’t. And you’ll just work overtime like any respectful person would.”

  “Fifi, overtime isn’t going to add up to four million dollars.”

  She laughed at that. “Well, I’m certain you’ll figure it out.”

  They didn’t really take notice of us until Arzon unlatched the cage and turned it on its head, shaking us out like he was looking for the prize at the bottom of the box. Bella and I ended up in a tangled heap at their feet. Only then did I realize there were marks running lengthwise across Angelo’s face. They were deep, jagged cuts that oozed blood, dripping down his chin and throat to collect in his collar.

  “You’re hurt,” I said, stating the clearly obvious. I couldn’t help it, though. I should have been screaming ‘thank yous’ at him or dropping to his feet and praising him for rescuing me and yet, that was all I could think to say.

  “Ridiculous,” Indie said. And I had to agree with her.

  Another devilish smile touched Angelo’s mouth as he reached down and helped me to my feet. Fifi did the same to Bella. “Turns out that shadow bloke is a sore loser,” Angelo said. “He gave me this on his way out.” Then he motioned to the wounds on his face. “Clearly, he wanted to win the auction.”

  “Really wanted to kill me,” I said, rubbing my smarting ass as Arzon lumbered out the door, slamming it behind him. “And was willing to pay for the privilege.”

  “Yeah, seems that way,” Angelo nodded. “It’s a good thing you have a very loyal cat.”

  I let out a squeak of pure joy when Checkers emerged from the bag slung over Fifi’s shoulder. He leaped at me, jarring my injured arm in the process, but I didn’t care. He was here. Indie’s familiar had somehow roped two demons into riding to my rescue. I tugged him to my chest, burying my face in his fur.

  “I am buying you whatever food you want for the rest of your life... or lives!”

  “As well you should,” Checkers sniffed, but couldn’t hide his happiness at the prospect. “Now, let’s get you to a hospital, Lydia. Then home to the Hollow.”

  Home. That sounded like paradise.

  And as to the first stop? Even a hospital was better than this reeking place.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Lydia

  Nurses were some of the most practical people on the face of the planet.

  Three of us came stumbling into the ER, battered, and bruised, none of us fully conscious, all of whom were bleeding or freezing half to death in our skimpy clothing. And not one of them batted an eye. No one even asked us anything but the most basic questions until we were stitched up and sequestered in our rooms. And then the questions came—where were you, how did this happen, who did this to you, etc. etc. I got out of most of them by saying I couldn’t remember. Angelo and Fifi helped further the cause by using their incubus and succubus charms to talk the staff and the doctors into believing everything was completely fine where we were concerned and not to alert the authorities.

  Hours after our release from (God it sounded so strange) Hell, I was lying in a hospital bed, an IV dripping fluids into my body. I especially appreciated the morphine, which dulled the pain of my burns and cuts to almost nothing. According to the doctor, I was dehydrated and had a partial thickness burn that would take months to heal. The cuts on my arm had been deep, too. I’d have nasty scarring, he said. Anthony and Angelo were convinced that it would be minimal if they could get me to the coven of witches in Haven Hollow fast enough.